


Minefield

by TwoMenAndAGuava (drakkynfyre47)



Category: Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Gen, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-29
Updated: 2017-03-29
Packaged: 2018-10-12 09:19:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10487451
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drakkynfyre47/pseuds/TwoMenAndAGuava





	

**T plus 15 minutes**

You blink slowly back to consciousness. You’ve never been a fan of being knocked out, but at least while you were unconscious you were feeling no pain. Being awake comes with the dubious benefit of spatial awareness, and you sit up to look around the bridge.

You immediately regret this decision. You press the heel of your hand into your eye socket, trying to ease the pain of your headache, but to no avail.

The bridge is quiet and dark, which is a relief, but what worries you is that none of the others are awake yet. You drag yourself up off the floor and stumble over to the captain’s chair. 

**T minus 15 minutes**

You catch a strange pattern in the scanners. At first you think nothing of it; it’s about time you recalibrated your equipment anyway. But when it pops up again, and again, every thirty seconds or so, you start getting worried.

You beckon one of the techs over to have a look, just to confirm what you’re already beginning to suspect. You bite your lip as they look over your data, and when they look at you with fear in their eyes you smile as reassuringly as possible.

You touch the button that alerts the captain he’s needed on the bridge.

**T plus 10 minutes**

You can’t hear anything. There’s a buzzing in your ears, as if you’d been standing next to a cannon when it fired. (This is something you unfortunately got the chance to experience first hand on one of the recent missions. You still have irrational nightmares about losing your hearing altogether - what good is a comms officer who can’t hear?)

You open your eyes, and immediately are swamped with sensory input. You can’t really do anything except let it sweep over you and carry you to unconsciousness.

**T minus 10 minutes**

You feel vaguely guilty for waking the captain for something this simple - you and Sulu could handle this easily. But it’s protocol - when something puts the ship in physical danger, you alert the captain. And you haven’t gotten where you are today by being reckless and playing fast and loose with the rules when you see fit.

(Well, okay, maybe you’re not opposed to bending rules, but considering the situation, it’s pretty unlikely you’ll be able to get the ship out of this without someone finding out.)

There’s no response from the captain’s quarters. Something deep inside your stomach twists, and you can’t define it. There’s something wrong here, something beyond whatever’s happening outside the ship.

You bring your data up onscreen so Sulu and Chekov can see what’s going on.

“I think we’re on our own,” you say, and you slide into the type of focus that comes only rarely, in high pressure situations, a bizarre kind of clarity that feels cold and analytical. Some part of you wonders vaguely if this is how Vulcans feel all the time.

**T plus 5 minutes**

Your console explodes in your face, blinding you briefly. You lean against your chair, and try to keep calm. You’re in control here. You’re the one who’s got to do this. You won’t let your shipmates down.

Sulu’s shouting about the shields losing power. You grip your console and try not to pass out.

**T minus 5 minutes**

Chekov’s looking desperately at the turbolift doors, as if he’s hoping Captain Kirk will come swooping in at the last moment to save the day.

You can’t help but look at there as well, just for a second. But you’re still alone, and you’re still in command here, and you shake your head to clear it and get down to business.

You can’t hear your own voice, but you’re talking, calm and sure, and giving orders to Chekov and Sulu, even though Sulu technically should be the one to do so because he’s in command gold and you’re in ship’s services red.

**T = 0**

It’s a minefield. It’s a minefield and it’s going to tear this ship apart. The first blast rocks the ship, and Sulu’s a damn good pilot, but no one is good enough for this, to escape something like this unscathed. So you tell him to turn the ship around, fire whatever maneuvering thrusters he’s got, just _get you all the hell out of there._

As you start broadcasting your distress signal, you start wondering if everyone’s alright. You clamp down on your worry and drag your attention back to the ship. “Keep going, Mr. Sulu,” you say.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

_Click,_ and the helmet comes away from Uhura’s face. The first thing she sees is Scotty, practically bouncing up and down as he asks, “How was it? Did it work?”

She blinks up at him, taking a few moments to readjust to reality. “It was awful,” she deadpans. “I’m pretty sure I blew up the Enterprise.” She has to grab his wrist to make sure he’s real, and she’s real, and that everything is okay.

Scotty beams. “Perfect! I’m still working on the last of the programming, but it sounds like it did work correctly.”

“Correctly?” She props herself up on her elbows. “You’re telling me I just watched myself blow up the Enterprise, and you knew it was going to happen?”

“No, no, of course not,” he says, already tapping away at the computer. “It’s supposed to be a similar test to Starfleet Academy’s Kobayashi Maru. A simulated test for command level officers.”

Uhura leans over and smacks the back of his head. “It felt so real,” she admits. “I couldn’t even tell I was in a simulation.”

“That’s what’s supposed to happen,” he says. “Are - are you alright?”

She sighs. “Yeah. I thought everyone was dead, and it was, ah, a little shocking.”

He wraps her in a one-armed hug. “Sorry. I should have warned you.”

“No, it’s fine. Your programming’s certainly improved,” she grins.

“Hey!” he says indignantly. “I’m good at programming!”

She looks at him dubiously. “Adequate at best,” she teases, standing up. “Thanks for letting me help out.”

“Thanks for helping,” he says, and as she walks out she feels like she’s floating.


End file.
